Malla's Journal
A meticulously kempt notebook with a simple black and white covering entitled "Malla's Journal" lies on the table. Laid across it is a necklace bearing the holy symbol of Wyst and a raven feather quill pen. Fairweather Festivities A failed assassination of the newly crowned Alexandrina, the Folly Queen. Her reign is based on the unhallowed dead, a stain on the name Silversmith. However, I have deduced her legacy. As the progenitor of my father's hopes and dreams, it falls unto me to bond with this man. I will assure he never needs the true power that he can gain. Perhaps I can fix the tragedies of the past. Dredging through Filth I do not trust the mysterious cloaked man. He stinks worse than the excrement that fills these sewers. His behest of the assassin's well-being can not be of goodwill. Viktor favors this woman, he does not see things the way I do. She is dead weight, a suicidal pawn eagerly awaiting to be used by the clever. Things would be better if she were my pawn. Viktor will be my pawn someday. Even if he never loves me, he will love our children. I'm beginning to develop feelings for Azreal. Her violence is exciting. Abscond and Deliver I was surprised by Viktor's willingness to work alongside of me in our departure, perhaps he is a more fond of me than I had first believed. Of course, at the gates of the city he quickly put me on edge with his incessant chattering with the guard. Wystwomen are more than lowly escorts. Luckily he appeared so drunk that his insults and poor lack of judgment did not arouse any suspicion. My presence amongst the group was all the explanation the guard had need of, after all. The paladin is in safe hands with me, even if she is impulsive and clumsy. Sleeping with Azreal provided with me with more useful insight about her physiology. However, I could have swore Tural was glaring at us throughout the night. We eluded some trackers sent by the queen and bashed some goblins' skulls on our way through a town. Now that I have better camping equipment I'll be better able to tend to our group's needs. Bones and Souls It has been a long-held wish of mine to go see Manifest, even in its decrepified state. The injury to the veil of souls has left some kind of spell upon the dead there. They exist in an eternal daze, yet still in the city, others seem to be doing well enough. Everyone in my family has always seen death as such a morbid concept... except mother. Although she died of jungle sickness, in the short time that I knew her, she taught me much about the spirits. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I had been born into the tribes of my mother's people. Alexander seems to finally be seeing worth in me, until now I have been fully prepared to lay down my life for my comrades, but now I am... afraid. I have been practicing with some of the old arts my mother talked about, these necromancers are nothing but foul charlatans. I was content to die in battle, and never reveal to my allies that I too have practiced in giving life to the unfilled vessel. I have never had want for power, but Alex wishes to see me live. Alexander, please see that my path is not the same as theirs, my way is not heresy...